A Dark Past
by Anie Bookes
Summary: The sole heiress of the Black, Prince and Riddle name? Hermione Granger's life just got that much more complicated... (Eventual Sirius x Hermione)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! It's been a while since I've been on this site, a couple of years I think. Feeling nostalgic after finding my old phone and laptop, I figured 'what the heck? Lets publish those chapters you've had lying around!' So, I'll be publishing the original version of A Dark Past (which I published on Wattpad) before I had replaced it with another version of the same name on Fanfiction. net (which is now entitled 'Oblivious' if you were wondering). I hope you enjoy what I have so far!**

 **...**

 _ **An Orphanage, September 19th 1979**_

Shrill wailing and cries could be heard from across the barred, silver gates where two cloaked figures stood. Each of their faces were masked, concealing their true identity and the loose, black cloaks gave nothing away. The figures stood beside each other, with the taller of the two wrapping his arms around the smaller one's frame. No affection was put into it; the gesture was merely for show.

The baby in her arms was a ghostly pale bundle, shivering and shifting uncomfortably in her mother's arms every once in a while in search for much needed body warmth, for human contact.

The couple paid barely any notice to the young infant and walked through the gates to the small brick building. They walked regally up the stone stairs of the entrance, radiating power off their rigid forms. They knocked once, taking off their masks and cloaks and revealing simple muggle clothing while they waited for an answer from within. Two minutes passed and, as they were just about to make a resigned (yet relieved) exit, the door slowly creaked open to reveal a young woman in her mid-twenties carrying a lamp and clad in a fluffy, pink robe. Honestly, the woman looked _ridiculous_.

"Oh- hello," she said, her blue eyes startled at their arrival, but clouded over with wanton lust as she caught sight of the young man stood in front of her. She flattened down her unruly blond tresses self-consciously. Forcing a yawn back down to try and sound at least a bit professional, she asked, "What can I do for you?" Secretly wishing she could do a lot _more_ for him, if _anything **.**_

He smiled, biting down a grimace and stepped through the half-open door uninvited, his companion following close behind. "We want to give you our child. We can no longer afford to raise her due to financial difficulties," the man said smoothly like he had already practiced it thousands of time in his head. If you knew him well enough like his companion did, you would be able to tell he didn't care. It was all in the eyes. He was a very good actor. But maybe it was just her imagination, _maybe_ he really did care. _"Winnie,_ say goodbye to her. We must go," he ordered softly into her ear.

The woman nodded and placed a tender kiss on her child's forehead for the last time. She stared at her sleeping form, deeply embedding the soft, relaxed features on her face into her memory and locked it in a proverbial safe. She managed to keep her emotions in check as she passed her daughter over to a stranger. "Look after her."

The care worker gaped and nodded dumbly in response. She couldn't believe she was going to leave her only daughter with a stupid muggle woman like her. She sighed and followed her 'husband's' retreating form.

She just managed to reach the door handle when the muggle filth placed her hand on her shoulder. Barely managing to hold back an animalistic growl, she span back round to glare at the woman. "What?" she spat, nearly smirking as she heard the care worker audibly gulp.

"W-what's... What's her name?" She finally got out.

"Hermione. Her surname is unimportant now she wont be living with us," she added, knowing what her next question was going to be. Muggles-They were all so _predictable._ "She was born on the 19th, September, 1979."

Walking out the door without speaking another word, the ebony haired woman placed the golden mask back on and let a lone tear fall across her concealed face. She'd never forgive herself for doing that. Her only daughter and she had given her up, to muggles no less! She deserved the finest, richest muggle family that would spoil her and treat her well, not some pathetic muggle orphanage!

"Let her go. It's for the best," a voice said, taking her out of reverie. Oh yes, she had forgotten she wasn't alone.

"I..." her voice cracked and she couldn't find the strength- nor _bravery_ that those blasted _Gryffindors_ possessed- to utter a comprehensible sentence. Unexpectedly, two strong arms wrapped themselves around her thin torso.

"I didn't want to let her go either," he murmured into her ear.

And, somehow, she knew he meant it.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Ten Years Later...**_

She didn't like change. It was something she had been solely against since the death of her first childhood friend, Crookshanks Alckott. However, change was inevitable, she knew that, and so when she was introduced to who she was told to be her birth father's closest friend three weeks before she was to turn eleven years old, she was determined to hide under her bed and bolt-lock the door. In reality, she had wedged a chair under the door handle like she had seen in the movies and hoped for the best.

Hermione knew she was the bastard child of her birth family; the result of the affair that her mother had partaken in for years before she was even conceived. She didn't want to know any more if it would result in a huge change in her views of her parents that she already held. If she were to exit her bedroom, she knew that her born curiosity would soon bubble over her façade of indifference and she would start to ask questions. She'd most likely burst than stay in her solitary silence. It was a little quirk that she was unable to grow out of, and it became an especial nuisance after Alckott's unexplained passing.

A single tap came from the door caused Hermione to tense up and she hid even further under the bed until her back pressed up against the cool surface of the wall and would not allow her any more movement. She was trapped, but safely hidden.

"Miss... Granger," a clipped, yet drawn voice filtered through the tiny cracks of her door and Hermione found herself struggling to push herself further into the merciless wall. There was a sigh and then, "Miss Granger, if you have a significant attachment to your door I suggest you open it. If not... I request you stand as far from it as possible."

A trembling shock wave filled the small bedroom and Hermione found that she was suddenly pushed harshly into the wall by a huge burst of spontaneous wind. Though she was protected and glad that she hadn't the courage to open the blasted thing (no pun intended), a small part of her, the one that was still hoping to hold on to her old life, knew that even if he hadn't blown up her door, even meeting him had changed the direction of her timeline. It wouldn't have mattered whether or not she opened it. Change was inevitable.

Heavy boots clapped against the wooden floorboards but were hidden, Hermione saw, by the shadow-like attire that draped right down to the ground and swished elegantly across the ground.

"Coming, Miss Granger?" The man asked, his voice drifting clearly down to where she hid, now that the door was no longer in between them. Again, he sighed at her silence, and again his robes swished across the room. She heard him sit down by her desk and the rustle of what could only be paper being moved.

There was nothing to be said. While Hermione was trying to get over the shock of the explosion, and the intruder was snooping through her desk, a tense silence hung over the duo as neither knew how to start a conversation that would please or inform either of them.

 _Where are my parents?_

That was a good start.

"I sent them along with McGonagall; they're to be sent to Hogwarts to meet with Dumbledore to attend to some business that the Professor has with them," he replied but Hermione realised that his unusual words caused more questions to form in her head.

More shifting paper. "This one is interesting." His comment startled her out of her thoughts and she began to shuffle out of her uncomfortable position under the bed. "Do you always find yourself drawing blue and red lightning?"

Hermione was about to answer his question, but instead saw that her door was more or less untouched- even the chair was still pushed up against the handle! But she was sure that she had heard an explosion!

Her name was repeated twice before she turned back to him. He sat, she observed, gracefully on the small surface the stool provided, but was clearly ill at ease and hid it well with his stiff posture. Looking more so at his clothes, she found that what she previously believed was a dress, was in fact a long robe covering what she guessed was more layers of black clothes and, of course, his loud black boots.

"How did you get in? What- _What exactly was that_?"

"Magic," he enunciated slowly, pulling at the 'i' but clipping at the 'c'. Suddenly, Hermione watched as he flicked his wrist and out of the stick, a cool tickle of cild air licked at her ankles and suddenly she was being lifted off of the ground. She squealed in displeasure.

"Put me down! Put me down right now!" the little girl fumed. She was put down immediately. Huffing, she asked the man why he had done that.

He shrugged in response, tucking away his stick in his sleeve. "Seemed easier than trying to explain that magic is real- you _were_ going to ask that weren't you?"He turned to her then, accepting her nod before moving on to introduce himself.

His name was Professor Severus Snape. He was a teacher at Hogwarts, and apparently a close friend to Hermione's late father- but he didn't dwell much on that. Instead, he began to tell Hermione everything she needed to know about preparing for Hogwarts, from shopping for her first wand, to purchasing her first pet. All in all, it seemed pretty interesting, but, Hermione mused, it was nothing that she couldn't read from a Hogwarts history textbook later, so she found herself drifting off very quickly into his verbal presentation.

He had a long, slightly crooked nose, she thought, with a slight bump between his dark, thin eyebrows. And, although moving, his mouth seemed to be shift between a grimace or a simple hard line whenever he would utter a word. his face was long and almost translucent in the light of her well-lit bedroom, and it was framed by long tresses of onyx hair that rippled whenever he moved. With dark eyes to match, he looked the perfect picture of a standard vampire. Hermione almost giggled at the thought.

She wondered why they had sent this man here when he clearly didn't look like he often made house calls. In fact, she was certain that blasting off a child's door- even to just get into a room- wasn't standard procedure when it came to dealing with slightly difficult children, and she was certain that making people fly- though pretty cool considering- without their permission or warning was also not a standard way for Hogwarts professors to introduce 'muggle-born' children to magic. As she sat there, contemplating, she was blissfully unaware that Professor Snape had finished and was now staring at her.

"So, Miss Granger," he asked, "any questions about cutting off your forefinger finger and feeding it to the three-horned Guineafowl on your first day of Care of Magical Creatures?" he proded, tapping his foot irritably.

"W-what?" she spluttered.

"Please pay attention to what I am saying next time Miss Granger. I do not take to... slackers," he said, crossing his arms. "I said Hagrid will be coming here in a few minutes to pick you up and take you to Diagon Alley for supplies. Don't worry too much about money, your parents have gone to the bank wiht Dumbledore to exchange muggle money for gold."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Diagon Alley, July 20th 1991**_

She felt so overwhelmingly ostracised in this strange, bright, populous alley. In a way it was as if she had eluded a world in which greys and blacks and dark hues were frequent, as well as the cold and frost and wind and rain, the minute she crossed over the entrance of the towering, recoiling brick walls that provided a gateway into the Wizarding World. It was a portal to a world where people wore robes instead of rain coats, felt shoes to protect their feet from cobbled roads replaced hard-leather boots to protect them from sharp stones on London's the gravely pavements. It was where people and creatures and pets were so out of touch with reality and the movement of modern civilisation. Where gold and knuts were currency, in substitute for ink-covered paper and metal coins with the queen's face splattered across it. Where they floated on broomsticks, instead of travelling in cars. Where they wrote letters in ink on parchment and attached them on an owl instead of tapping keys and pressing 'send' on a computer. This was the world that, no, she did not truly know anything about, yet she had been thrust into it without her consent and without warning.

She didn't like it.

Despite her about to go off and learn something new (an aspect in which she revelled in and always enjoyed), she was utterly furious, and even demanded the friendly half-giant to leave her at home, in which he replied, "No can do. Got er tight schedule to keep today- have to pick up another kid tonight...", then her parents proceeded to send her off with Hagrid, proud smiles on their faces as they vigorously waved back at her. That was ten minutes ago.

Hermione remembered a time when she was three up until now. A time where parents had warned her never to talk to strangers. Now, there she was being handed over- _by her parents_ \- to a complete and utter stranger. It was absurd!

Hagrid pointed to the next shop expecting her to follow but she suddenly got caught up in a flurry of uncoordinated red heads. Startled, the girl jumped and flung her arm backwards and managed to hit the boy who appeared behind her in an attempt at a jump-scare.

"Oi!", the boy yelled, cupping at his now bleeding nose.

She rushed forward to assist the bleeding boy who was clearly much older than her and probably a student at Hogwarts too. God, she hoped they weren't going to be in the same house. She didn't need to be constantly reminded of how she broke this random kid's nose. "Are you okay? I didn't mean any harm," she stammered out her half-hearted apology. The boy just glared.

"'Ello. I'm Fred," the second red head introduced, offering his hand for a shake as she tried to help the bleeding boy lift his head up and hand him a tissue. She swatted away his hand but gave him a small smile instead. The boy she hit looked just like Fred, except Other Fred now had a bleeding, crooked nose and had ran off, glaring at her from across the street. "That's my brother, George- you hit him," he grinned, saluting his thanks to the blushing girl. "Say 'Hello', Georgie!"

George wiped at his dripping nose and Hermione grimaced at the ruby red stain trail he left on his knitted sleeve. He nodded at her then ran into the joke shop his other brothers had escaped off to.

"Your brother must hate me," she sighed.

"No, it's fine. I think you just wounded his ego. He's pretty big headed," Fred laughed. "No girl has been able to catch him like that. Thank you, oh mighty one" he bowed and whispered in gratitude.

She scoffed. "I'm sure he has a big enough ego as it is. How much of a struggle was it to get his head through that jumper of his this morning? Did you need a really sharp pin, or did you just stretch the fabric out a bit?"

Fred just laughed louder, snorting a bit before he calmed himself down enough to form a sentence.

"I'm going to like you."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Well.. that was embarrassing haha. Chapter 4 and 5 'died' as many of you pointed out- thanks for that, by the way, I would never have noticed lol. So hopefully it's second time lucky eh? Anyway, here's to a hopefully very much alive chapter 4 and 5...**_

* * *

 _ **Hogwarts**_

The castle floors seemed to shudder between each brisk step the man took. The _clip_ - _clop_ of his steel-heeled boots reverberated around even the dingy, dimly-lit corridor of the dungeons, alerting the cowering light of his presence. The shadows revelled happily in his anger, swirling around him, coddling him. His mind wondered to that _moment_ again and his eyes flashed in response to his flaring anger. It wasn't long before he was met with the hideous gargoyle and he was saying the ridiculously _muggle_ password.

"Ah, Sev—"

"You _knew_ ," he snarled, eyes flashing once again, eliciting McGonagall's hand to inch closer to her wand. He told her he wasn't going to do anything, but the anger sizzling off of his robes didn't ease any tension that he had suddenly brought in with him. His animalistic snarl when Dumbledore told him to calm down didn't help his case either.

"I couldn't be sure, Severus," Dumbledore admitted sombrely, motioning for the seething Professor Snape to take a seat. He refused. "We still aren't sure. It's an impossible situation, you have to understand that…"

 **…**

 _ **Meanwhile in Diagon Alley…**_

"'Ermione!" She jumped. "There ye' are! Been looking all over for ya I 'av, little one. Where 'av ya been?"

Hermione had gone for a wonder after getting to know one half of the apparently 'infamous' Hogwarts tricksters. They had walked about Diagon Alley and began to get to know each other as Fred gave her a short tour of the Alley, pointing out the most important shops in the area like Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour— "For the best-tasting, ridiculously-sounding and obnoxiously-aesthetic ice creams a witch or wizard could only _dream_ up"— Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop—"For mediocre prank supplies if you're not bothered about quality and are low on cash"— and Sugarplum's Sweet Shop—"For when you need a quick sugar rush. Oh, and for their sugar quills—utterly amazing."

After buying her a sugar quill to try out for herself, Fred had been called over by, who Hermione hazarded a guess, was his mother. Mrs Weasley was a short and plump woman with fading orange hair, deep laugh lines and a brilliantly warm smile. Hermione knew, from even across the street, that Fred was a lucky kid to have a mother like that. Her own mother, though she loved her to bits, seemed almost disinterested in Hermione when it came to choosing between listening to how her day went on the dinner table, and taking a phone call from her dentistry on Old Street. She gave the woman a small smile before she turned the corner and entered another random shop, hoping to finally see Hagrid.

Instead of the friendly giant, however, Hermione was met with dozens of airborne kids whizzing around on… were those _broomsticks_? Hermione blinked. She looked on, captivated, as one child clung on for dear life as he was thrown about like a ragdoll whilst his relentless broom bucked and kicked in the air before another, clearly more skilled flyer, glided over to him and sat the red-faced child onto his own broom before reigning in the other broom with soft strokes. She let out a small giggle, despite the glare that the child gave her, at the scene. It was kind of endearing how the broom shook from handle to bristles like a cat as it was stroked by its handler. It was funny, that of all the things that 'muggles' (a word that Fred had taught her) got right, was that witches—and wizards apparently—flew around on _brooms_! Caught up in her fascination, she had narrowly managed to avoid being knocked over by an overzealous flyer who was zooming so low it was almost perilous and, as she jumped back, she found herself knocking back into a small figure.

He was a young boy about her age, she noted, with a pale face and even paler hair. In his hand was, unsurprisingly, a broom. Too happy to be annoyed, he grinned at her instead when he saw her eyes linger on the glintingly new item in his hand.

"The new Nimbus 2000," he told her giddily.

"Is… is it yours?" she asked, still sceptical about the things after she had nearly witness a kid fall to his death. He nodded at her.

"I know we aren't allowed to ride a broom yet so please don't tell anyone," he leaned in, "but I'm going to be the youngest ever Seeker on the Slytherin team. It's my dream. Father says it will happen." His grin was so infectious that Hermione found herself smiling along with the boy.

"I'm Draco, by the way. Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you."

"I'm-"

"A _mudblood_ ," a cutting voice interrupted, causing her new friend's eyes to bulge and his mouth dip into a disappointed grimace.

Hermione dropped her inviting hand. She had a feeling that a 'mudblood' wasn't a good thing— and that she probably was one. Her ears burned to impossible temperatures as, around the store, Hermione could hear people gasp and tut at them disapprovingly, but no one moved to intervene. To the staff, it was well above their pay grade. It was not in their best interest to anger someone as powerful as the notorious Malfoy lest they wished to leave the store with a few broken ribs and bulbous warts pulsing all over their bodies. No, it was not worth it.

Before Hermione could defend herself, Draco let his father sweep him away without protest. The door creaked open with an eerily cheery jingle and the little Malfoy boy turned to look at Hermione for one last time with conflicted eyes before they were parted by frosted glass. The young witch left the shop not soon after.

That was an hour ago, and she had been waiting by those familiar tilting bricks that separated her from the normal world that she knew, and the magical one that she had been shoved into, when that damn giant finally showed up.

"I want to go home," she demanded, gulping back a hiccup and wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

A very oblivious Hagrid just shrugged, gently pulling the young witch away form the entrance to Diagon Alley and out to the still bustling streets. "Not yet, little one. Still got ter get one more thing."

Entering the small shop, she was immediately attacked with the distinct smell of old parchment and sandal wood. There was so much untapped magic in the air that it made her skin bubble and tingle in delight and her hair frazzle and wave, even in the absence of a breeze. The room itself was very cramped as all available space was dominated by shelves upon shelves of haphazardly placed, sleek wand boxes. The counter was no better than the shelves, also littered with boxes—some were completely empty and some were filled with wands spilling out of them, almost as if they were attempting to make an escape.

Behind the counter, however, was a greying man in a shabbily dapper attire. His hair, fading into the same shade of his suit, contrasted the warmness of his bright eyes. He had a friendly enough face, an oddly-familiar smile and a radiating power that alerted you of his presence. He looked like he was part of the furniture—worn, cluttered, powerful; a dangerous combination if he wanted. But, to Hermione's surprise, Mr Olivander was as kind as his eyes, and she found herself smiling at him in return.

"Why hello, Miss…"

"Hermione Granger," Hermione filled hesitantly, curiously staring at the wands that had begun to shudder and spark suddenly at her proximity.

Mr Olivander simply smiled at her wary look. "No need to fret, my dear. My wands sense potential—as do _I_. They are merely excited." He disappeared then under the counter and retrieved a thin box, opening it and moving to hand her the contents when he hummed before snatching it back from her tentative hands with a mutter of "no good".

Hermione and Hagrid shared a look before shrugging. It was like this for ten minutes before the sporadic man finally settled on handing her a thick stick and instructing her to "give it a whirl." She did, and in response, the wand just sparked and fizzed in her hand and she was quick to drop it in shock.

"No matter, no matter." He said, handing her another stick. This time, Hermione found that it did nothing but _melt_ in her hand. He tutted to himself and took the sad wand away from the equally-sad witch. Putting it back in its box to heal, he paused and turned to look straight into her whisky eyes, searching for answers. He smiled then, finding it, and throwing his hands in the air as he made his way to the back room.

"Yes… Yes, I know the wand for you, young lady… Here you go," Ollivander announced, returning from the back room and handing her a beautifully crafted black wand wrapped tightly in thick russet vines. The wand had a distinctly thin slither of silver going across its length and she noted that it felt warm in her hands.

"Black and purple heart wood, merperson hair, flexible, 11 inches," he explained delicately as a telling soft glow emanated from its tip. "That will be seven galleons."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hampstead, September 1** **st** **1991**

"You really—don't have to— do this— Professor," she repeated in between strains for, what Severus guessed, had to be the _ninth_ time since he had arrived to pick her up. He merely rolled his eyes at her as she attempted to haul her trunk out of the doorway and into the drive and flicked his wrist to lift it out of her hands, up over the small ledge and into the boot.

"And you would be able to get yourself to the station without any help?" He asked her, eyeing her copious amount of baggage and sack of books (did they set that _many_ textbooks?) still behind her, waiting to be taken out of the house. It hadn't been entirely her fault of course, but her insisting that she didn't need help was really getting on his nerves.

Her parents had sent a letter to Dumbledore stating that Hermione would not be able to make it to Hogwarts for her first day because of a business conference that they had forgotten they planned to go on months prior to Snape's first visit to their daughter to tell her that she was a witch. At hearing this, Dumbledore had requested Severus to his office in order to ask him to accompany her to the platform, being the only other figure besides Hagrid that Hermione knew. Sure, it had angered Severus that he was basically doing the same job as the magic-less half-giant. And yes, maybe turning one of the many trinkets on Dumbledore's desk into a molten puddle of dragon's fyre wasn't the best reaction in the world, but Severus was _annoyed._ After meeting Hermione in the summer, there had been a nagging feeling in the back of his mind and it had annoyed him to no end. It hadn't helped that Dumbledore was clearly keeping what he knew from Severus. But, that was how he got into this babysitting position, as it were. Hermione needed a ride and Severus was available.

"Well n—"

"Then do stop, Miss Granger," he sighed through his nose and wrapped his robes tightly around himself protectively. Hermione had to stifle a giggle—he looked like a caterpillar in a cocoon. "Just—get in the car, Granger. I'll deal with the rest," he said, motioning to her things.

Though it might have been a surprise to many in the wizarding world, Severus Snape did own a car. Sure, it wasn't the most flattering colour being a weird mixture of slate and cobalt, but it was nice and cosy, Hermione mused as she got in. The seats were soft enough, the radio was playing some nonsensical song with too much bass and the car oddly smelled of jellybeans.

Severus, between swishes and flicks at her bags, glanced at the little witch in his car. She seemed content enough, he thought, but every so often she would glance out of the window and chew on her hair in anticipation. Severus softened his frown then. Of course, she was nervous. It was her first day away from home for an extended period of time, she was going to a school she didn't even know existed in another country no less, and she didn't even go to say goodbye to her parents before they had left for the conference in the night. Hermione had put on a brave face, but that bravery was starting to dissipate the longer she stayed sedentary. He hurried his movements and soon they were on their way to Kings Cross.

"Tha—whoa too close! That's not how you—should be – driving!" she voiced, finally, after an agonising turn on the roundabout.

Though it would be a shock to find out that Severus Snape had a car, it would come as less of a shock to find out that he didn't really know how to drive it. In fact, he had barely passed his lessons, giving up and obliviating his instructor and giving himself a pass after his second excruciating lesson.

"Well would you like to have a go, Granger?" he sneered, changing gears once again and wincing slightly at the car's creaking protest.

"I'm _eleven_!" she squealed, holding onto the handle and simultaneously praying to god that the last thing she would hear before they crashed was _not_ going to be the absurd screeching of the _Twizzers Wizzerds_ on the radio.

Snape grunted again as the car spluttered down the carriage way at a crazy speed. They were so close to the station, he didn't even care at this point. He peered a look at his passenger and smirked when he saw her with her eyes closed and muttering a tiny prayer.

"We're not going to crash," he told her, pulling into the carpark and barely missing the metal bin.

She opened her eyes and let out an audible sigh when she felt the car stop completely, near flinging herself out of the door and gulping in some much-needed fresh air.

"Please don't throw up, Granger. I won't clean it up," he warned.

" _Learn how to drive then, Professor_ ," she wanted to clap back. Instead, she found an empty bin besides the car and began to dry heave as the said Professor grimaced and pulled all of her things out of the boot and into a trolley.

 **…**

 _ **Kings Cross Station, half an hour later…**_

Hermione Granger ran a hand down her side in an attempt to smother down the creases on her robes as she trailed behind her trolley being pushed by an ever-frowning Snape. Despite Snape's warning, he did end up cleaning her up, handing her her Hogwarts uniform and telling her that she was going to have to wear it eventually; "Better this than a vomit-soaked jumper," he argued when he could see her about to protest, smirking when she snatched it out of his hands and she climbed back into the metal death-trap to change.

As they weaved their way around crowds of muggles and the occasional lost wizard, Hermione was thankful that no one had stopped to look at the bizarrely dressed duo in their rush to get their own trains. She stopped abruptly, nearly bumping into Snape's back before he turned to her and handed her the trolley.

"Right through there," he motioned to a wall—a very tall, very solid wall—before disappearing with a flick of his wand.

Hermione gulped. Suddenly, two small boys rammed through the wall and disappeared. She looked around her to see if anyone else had noticed what she had but to no avail. Everyone was as oblivious as they were before. A part of her knew that it had to do with magic repelling muggles from ever noticing magic take place and she wondered if she had gone through her life missing glaring obvious things like children ramming into solid objects and disappearing through them. Her stalling had finally attracted the attention of a big, burly man in a very official uniform and she became very alert as he made his way slowly over to her. It had to be her clothes, she thought. Not very discreate going around muggle London wearing robes and carrying around a massive trunk.

"Alright, Miss? You lost or som'fing?" he asked her, placing a hand on her trolley, effectively keeping her in place.

Hermione stuttered an excuse but was interrupted when a voice answered for her; "Honey! There you are, I've been looking all over for you!"; and soft arms wrapped around her shoulders in a small hug.

The man removed his hands then and Hermione sighed in relief.

"This one yours then?"

"Yes officer, she tends to wonder when she's in new places. We'll get out of your way now, thank you."

Hermione let the woman manoeuvre her away from the man and closer to the wall. She turned to her then to see the smiling woman she had seen only from across the street in Diagon Alley not a few months ago. "Honestly, I have my hands full today, don't I?" she laughed heartily. "It must be your first time too." Hermione nodded.

"Right, well it's really simple—oh, this is Ginny by the way—"

Behind the woman, a small girl with bright hair gave her an equally bright smile as she tugged onto her mother's sleeve. "Now, you're going to have to be swift about it, but what you do is run straight into the wall and don't look back. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt at all, love" she reassured at seeing Hermione's nervous face.

Finally, Hermione bit the bullet and ran.


	6. Chapter 6

**Bit of a time jump guys!**

* * *

 **S** _ **eptember 1**_ _ **st**_ _ **1992**_

 _ **In the air…**_ **somewhere**

Ron already knew that Hermione already knew that a train without Harry Potter and Ron Weasley only meant trouble. Sure, they had only been friends for a year, but that didn't mean she knew them any less than they knew themselves. She knew that Harry hated attention—their first meeting in that exact (now empty besides Hermione) compartment was enough of a confirmation. This was despite his new-found fame in the Wizarding World which, she found, Harry had also been thrusted into without warning. It was what they bonded on in the early stages of what they hoped would be a long-lasting friendship. Being raised by muggles, both Harry and Hermione felt a connection that Ron couldn't really comprehend, as much as he tried. Much to Ron's dismay, every so often Harry and Hermione shared little jokes based on muggle references that he didn't really get. Like how a member of the band _Pearl Jam_ — _a ridiculous name, by the way_ —looked suspiciously like Professor Snape, or how they missed the simple things like pens to take notes with because they didn't have to waste ten minutes fanning their parchment before turning over the scroll.

He also knew that she thought that Ron, by contrast, was a very loud, very proud, and very lazy boy. And, she probably thought that Harry had probably gotten caught up in one of Ron's schemes again and that they were probably in a lot of trouble. If not right now, then later, when one of the Professors notices them missing—unless they made it in time. He was counting on whatever god didn't already hate him that they would get to school on time, unscathed and most importantly, still in Hermione's good books.

Ron, who was swerving frantically away from a tree he had only just seen, saw this as his redemption story. Getting Harry and himself to Hogwarts without getting caught would be a huge feat and, hopefully, it would impress that bloody witch into finally liking him!

 **…**

 _ **The Hogwarts Express**_

Hermione nodded slowly, her mouth twisted as the train pulled away from the station knowing full well that Harry and Ron were no where to be seen. She had had spent a good half hour going up and down the train trying to find her friends in the very crowded express. She had already spotted the twins with their matching grins and hands full of dung bombs and she had even seen that Ginny girl that she had met at the station just a year ago when Mrs Weasley had saved her from an unknowing muggle. Making her rounds as she tried to find her friends, she had also seen Draco Malfoy sitting alone in his own compartment, to her surprise, before he was joined by a girl who Hermione had not recognised around Hogwarts before. She just shrugged and moved along, wanting to find her friends.

It wasn't that Hermione hated Draco or vice versa. In fact, she found him quite the intellectual when he wasn't being followed around relentlessly by his cronies and had decided to finally ditch them and seek refuge in the library one frosty morning last Christmas. At first, he had decided to sit as far away from Hermione as the long table allowed, but eventually he got bored and found himself edging closer to the girl to ask her his burning questions about Herbology. Apparently, he had told her later, that she was the smartest witch in their year (though it pained his godfather to admit it). And after grilling her on every subject for a good two hours, Draco decided that yes, she _was_ the smartest witch he had ever met… and that also he was sorry for how his father had treated her that day at Diagon Alley. Though he would never confess to said father that he and the little mudblood were now somewhat friendly, he couldn't help but retell the time that some 'unknown' witch in DADA had actually outsmarted their quivering Professor Quirrell during one of his lessons about hexes, correcting him on his stance as he performed his Bat-Bogey Hex incorrectly in front of some very unimpressed-looking Gryffindor's and wary Slytherin first years who had been waiting to see a wincing Draco Malfoy be hexed into having bats come out of his nose. It didn't happen—not to Malfoy, that is. Catching Quirrell's glaring mistake, she raised her hand and demonstrated herself how it was done. Only, she aimed her wand at the professor who until then, had been under the allusion that it would be Malfoy who would be hexed, not himself. Sure, she got detention for turning her wand on a teacher, but to see Draco unharmed and no longer on the brink of tears made polishing all the Quidditch broomsticks worth it. It also earned her a very thankful friend. Lucius Malfoy couldn't count how many times his boy became stupidly starry-eyed every time he retold the story to whichever house else would listen. Sometimes, between the beatings, he even saw Dobby nodding and listening intently to his son's recounts of the 'brilliant witch' that outsmarted the stupid professor. Narcissa on the other hand didn't care to know who this girl was or how enraptured her son seemed to be with her, just as long as she stayed clear from her darling boy, all would be well in the world.

After some last-minute children jumped onto the near-moving vehicle and the train finally pulled away did Hermione find herself incredibly bored and incredibly lonely. This time last year she had been joined by a tubby and cowering boy and his ghastly toad—Neville Longbottom, he had said his name was. She thought, with a name life that, he was sure giving it his all to present a personality that matched. Neville was friendly enough kid but he was also very timid and not the easiest of people to talk to in the world with his nervous disposition and his almost owlish eyes. But, Hermione credited, he was a good friend. He was loyal and he cared a lot about their safety as he had shown during the end of their first year. She found herself craving his presence but she had already seen him with Ginny and a small blonde girl two compartments over and she didn't want to intrude. Neville was a good kid with limited close friends and she didn't want to interrupt and ruin his progress. Though she didn't know Ginny personally, she knew from Ron that she was 'a little git', which roughly translated to 'I love her but she can be a bit much', so she guessed that she had to be pretty good. The girl besides him—Luna, she had heard her say her name was—was a pretty thing with beautiful hair that Hermione saw was akin to a jellyfish in water. Thin, delicate and pale, she hair seemed to be magical itself as her silky locks flowed with each gust of wind their opened window allowed in. Hermione tugged at her own frizzled curls and sighed when it flapped around in the wind and slapped her in the face a couple of times.

Cursing the school for choosing the most muggle-est ways of transport imaginable, she dejectedly laid her head back and closed her eyes, realising she was going to be alone for a good few hours. Her mind wondered to nonsensical things like _how many new Gryffindor's there would be this year, how many merpeople were there actually living down in the Lake, how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood_ , sort of thing. She felt her mind slip to the first time that she, Harry and Ron had actually become friends.

 _ **Potions Class, Hogwarts, January 5**_ _ **th**_ _ **1991**_

 _It had been the day after she had served her final detention with Professor Quirrell during lunch and, hungry as she was, she had finally caught up with the rest of her class who were about to enter their first potions lesson of the winter term._

 _As frosty as the air was inside, it was nothing compared to Snape's mood and the shared shiver that would ripple across the entire classroom whenever his voice or sneer nipped at their emotional state. He hadn't said very much besides throwing the occasional insult towards either Potter and co. or Hermione, but everyone could tell that something was very wrong, and very cold about Professor Snape that day._

" _He's having one of those moments," Hermione noted, sliding in besides Draco and behind Harry._

 _They all knew that Professor Snape, genius though he was, was very…_ untethered _, shall we say? He was the type of man that was cool and stoic most of the time, but every so often he would lash out crazily. And, though entertaining to watch the grown man-bat flail his arms about in anger, when that anger was directed at_ you _, it was not a pretty sight. Often, it ended in tears and a calming potion from Madame Pomfrey._

 _She tried to stay out of Snape's sight as much as she could whenever they had potions. After the debacle that was their first potions lesson where Harry was ridiculed and she was looked over, Hermione knew that this was the one class where she just couldn't constantly put up her hand—even if she_ knew _the answers. Because, try as she might, Professor Snape chose to ignore her. She had been persistent all through their first term, but Snape was having none of it and wouldn't give her the time of day. If she had to hazard a guess, she would say that after she had thrown up all over herself and Snape, his opinions of her soured. Though, in her defence, he wasn't a very good driver and he only narrowly missed one or two potholes. Being the only one out of the two of them who had a wand and could use magic, he was not very pleased with having to clear up her sick off of himself. Hermione knew then that Snape would not be her biggest fan, and she couldn't do enough grovelling or achieve high enough grades from his subject for him to think of her in any other way. So, she guessed that it was inevitable that he would blame her for what happened next._

God, Ron was a really annoying git sometimes.

 _In an attempt to 'save her from Malfoy and his influence', Ron had paired himself off with Hermione and had dragged Harry and Neville along with him to their shared cauldron, sticking his face over the steaming pot to check if it was hot enough—it was. They worked as a group to make a potion—Hiccoughing Potion—which was easy enough, given Hermione's extensive reading on it, Neville's knowledge on exotic herbs (that his grandmother grew in her garden), and Harry being surprisingly good at measuring out their ingredients. When it was called for, Ron would use his wand to stir clockwise or anti-clockwise however many times and they worked pretty well until—_

SMASH!

 _A multitude of vials slipped from under Ron's grip and fell to their deaths onto the stone floor and blurred into a puddle of bubbling orange. Hermione's left ear near went deaf at Snape's five-minute rant at them to clean up the mess and his subsequent and ever-creative insults about their intelligence. After it, though Hermione couldn't think that having to clean the girl's bathroom was punishment enough, the red-headed boy still had the cheek to give an impish grin and all four of them were given a month's detention._

 _The next month was hell, but Hermione prided herself in being able to see herself in the now polished tiles in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The whole ordeal was also made slightly bearable because of the fact that it brought her closer to Harry. In between each scrub, they spent the month talking about their muggle upbringing (though totally different, as she was horrified to find out that Harry lived under the stairs and even offered him a place in their spare room at home), their joint dislike for their very unhinged Potions Professor and about Quidditch. Being friendly with Draco meant that they spent most nights in the library switching between Quidditch ("That Potter boy better watch out") and Herbology ("I really can't do this, Hermione. I'd take a wrackspurt in my ear any day!") and she had since become quite the expert on different teams._

Feeling the train draw to a slow and eventual stop, she opened her eyes and collected her things with a sigh. When she saw Ron—if she saw Ron—she would punch him, she was sure of it.

 **…**

 _ **Hogwarts**_

They had crashed the car. His wand was broken. They had been caught—by Snape, no less.

"There is no god," Ron muttered, pocketing his broken wand with a whimper.

Suffice to say, Hermione would still hate him and the threat of expulsion weighed equally as heavy over himself as it did Harry. If he didn't receive a howler from his mother within the next few days, he would consider himself the luckiest son of a bitch in existence. However, he now knew that there were no gods that would shower him with luck, nor was there a chance that he was going to miss any occasion that would involve food. So, resigned, Ron allowed Snape to tug him from the scruff into Dumbledore's office as he thought of a variety of creative ways that he could destroy a howler before it opened its rotten, red mouth.


	7. Chapter 7

**September 2** **nd** **1992**

 _ **Hogwarts**_

"I don't know why you're so upset, Ron. Your mum was justified in sending it. I mean honestly, stealing a flying car? You're lucky you didn't crash or fall!"

Well, he _could_ have fallen—so could have Harry! The car had a mind of its own, really, and Ron thought he should be awarded a medal of bravery for being able to steer it without crashing into the castle. Or, at least, an honorary driving licence. Like ones that they gave to children at that muggle theme park Harry always talked about wanting to go to… _Leggy Land_? Something like that.

"And crashing into that poor Willow," she continued to mutter whilst she buttered her toast, avoiding looking at Ron completely lest she see another one of his impish grins and attempt to stab it off his face with her blunt butter knife. Surely the house elves wouldn't question having to clean some blood off a utensil or two…

Ronald Weasley didn't know what he hated more— the dreadfully embarrassing howler or Hermione Granger's lecture on how "cars are death traps you know" during breakfast and how he "could've gotten himself and Harry killed—or worse—expelled" during lunch. He smirked at that (which Hermione did not appreciate); she had used that on him before and yet, here he was, very much alive and very much still a member of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If anything, Hermione should be coddling himself and Harry, he thought. Because it was him who had a massive scrape along his left arm, and a wand that was _snapped_ _completely in half_ and Harry still had twigs in his hair (and they probably really scratched up his scalp and neck during the night). So really, for all the bloodshed, _they_ should be the ones being treated as victims and the stupid bloody tree should be threatened with the _chop_.

"Really, Hermione. Don't be dumb. Expulsion can't be as bad as actually dying," Ron argued indignantly, already reaching to wipe the crumbs off of his face with his sleeve. He had to use his good arm because of that _wretched_ Whomping Willow. He was basically an invalid now, he thought to himself miserably. A cut like that, any deeper and he was certain that Madame Pomfrey with all her years of experience would not have been able to heal him. He was lucky. Really, so very lucky.

Harry immediately noticed Hermione's eyes flare at Ron's flimsy excuse and the grip on her butter knife was dangerously tight. He found himself shuffling away from Ron a bit, wary of the young witch. Though he did find himself agreeing with his troublesome best friend, he also knew that going against anything Hermione said was like telling Molly Weasley her famous Pork Pie tasted like stale bread. Honestly, it just wasn't a good idea. So, the boy who lived decided to _continue_ being the boy who lived and just took in what Hermione said, keeping his eyes downcast to wolf down as many pancakes as his little stomach could take before they had to leave for their first lesson. Plus, Harry thought vaguely, Mrs Weasley had to be a saint who learned how to cook in heaven and then came back to feed the greedy Weasley children and Harry Potter because damn it to hell if Mrs Weasley wasn't the best cook in the world then Harry had no idea who was. Sure, the house elves could season to perfection, but Mrs Weasley… Merlin's bony bumhole, nothing could beat Molly Weasley's Pork Pie. And just as he had finished his third syrup-coated pancake, Harry could feel his stomach start to rumble. He really wanted Christmas to come early so that Mrs Weasley could send him a care package of Pork Pies and other assortments.

Harry continued to fantasise about heavenly pies for a good ten minutes before he had realised that Hermione had stormed off to DADA early and Ron was trying to shake him back to reality. "What the heck, mate? She bloody butchered me and you just sat there drooling!" Ron said, pulling Harry up off of the bench and grabbing his own bag as they followed the wave of half-asleep, disgruntled children out of the Great Hall.

 _Merlin's soggy balls_ , Harry inwardly groaned as he entered and saw the blinding pearly whites of Gilderoy Lockhart's teeth illuminate the room before he actually saw the self-righteous man himself. He was leaning by his desk, arms folded over his tailor-fitted vest and cloak, a toothy grin plastered on his face like a tattoo. Harry briefly wondered if he ever stopped smiling or if one day he had just forgotten how to. He smirked at the thought of a very toothy five-year-old Lockhart in rhinestone diapers and made his way further into the room.

Moving to sit at his desk besides Ron, Harry could immediately feel half of the girls and boys in his class swoon. At what? Harry couldn't tell you. Lockhart was all smiles and no substance (a phrase he had picked up from his Aunt Petunia when she would rant about their newer, _younger_ neighbours), and it made no difference to Harry that the man was tall, broad-shouldered and blonde. Just as long as he didn't attempt to kill him just as his old DADA professor had done, then everything would be good between them. Harry could deal with the teeth, just as long as they were the only sharp things that Lockhart brought out. Harry could disarm a wizard with a wand, but he had no idea how to disarm a madman with a knife.

He turned to Ron, only to see him mirroring Lockhart and smiling at a Hufflepuff across the room. Harry shook his head before hitting Ron on the arm. "Stop it you look ridiculous," he hissed as they took their seats. Harry didn't know what had gotten into his friend. Maybe Hermione's lectures had affected him more than he had let on, he thought. Or maybe the publicly humiliating Howler really _had_ damaged Ron's credibility and he was just using Lockhart's moves to win back his favour from the rest of the student population. Either way, Harry was baffled. He didn't think that anyone would want to look up to someone as clearly _daft_ as Lockhart. He just wanted this whole lesson to be over—and _quickly_.

It was when Lockhart opened his mouth to speak did the spell really break for Hermione Granger.

Despite being just twelve— _nearly thirteen though, mind you_ —years old, Hermione knew a stupid crush when she saw one and Gilderoy Lockhart _was_ _one_. He was the perfect kind of crush material: luscious locks, tall, an almost-sturdy build with a soft, velvety voice. Oh, and the money really did help—she saw the diamonds on his fingers, she wasn't blind after all! But what Hermione valued most of all was brains and Gilderoy Lockhart, with all his books and his fame and his gold, didn't seem to really have any. In fact, his demonstrations in class was a far cry from the intelligent man that was smothered all over the books she kept by her bedside, right next to her favourite copy of A Hogwarts History. Really, any book worthy to be on Hermione Granger's bedside table had to be a good book; a bloody brilliant read. And it _was_. Lockhart's books were sensational, captivating and spellbinding but… they were not the man, Hermione quickly realised. The man was different. The man behind the books with his face on them was… well, he was dumb. She shook her head in disbelief, thinking the sorting hat had clearly gotten it wrong by putting this man in Ravenclaw and giggled at the thought of a small Gilderoy Lockhart getting the password wrong and having to spend the night outside of his dorms.

As dumb as a cow. _No_ , she thought, _that was offensive to cows_. Gilderoy Lockhart was one of the dumbest men that she had ever met.

Before classes had started, Fred had warned Hermione that the DADA classroom had been covered with pictures of Lockhart and joked that the teacher must have been a little twit that idolised him. At the time, it had earned him a slap around the head. But, looking around the room now and seeing the man at work, she guessed that Fred was, in a way, right. Not that she'd ever admit it to the infamous prankster. But it was true: Gilderoy Lockhart was very into himself, aggressively so.

It was with that revelation that Hermione Granger's crush died.

Flipping open her third-year textbook she began to read, her mind drawing further and further away from Lockhart's pointless ramblings with each line that she read. She thought that given the man's lack of actual knowledge on the subject and the fact that she had already read her Defence Against the Dark Arts Textbook for this year, she might as well try and spend the hour learning _something_ —even if it was self-taught.

Nearly as soon as Lockhart began his lesson on Guzzling Grongoes _("I wrestled with one on one of my adventures in the Amazon Rainforest in Brazil, you know. It's in my second book"),_ Draco heard the unmistakable giggle of one Hermione Granger besides him before he saw her open up an unrecognisable book and drift off into her own head. He found himself frowning at that, thinking that the Hermione that he knew definitely didn't like the type of man that Lockhart was. He was too full of himself, too annoying and too _blonde_! He grimaced then when he realised that Hermione Granger was just another _Lockhart_ _fangirl_.

Though trying as hard as he could, Draco could not force himself to listen to another one of Lockhart's tangents about one of his pointless adventures. It was at this point that he made a bargain with the gods that their next DADA (for the position was notoriously cursed so he wasn't surprised if this man were to be fired at the end of the year) would be cooler or at least an _actual_ teacher. His father didn't make him read ahead of his class during the summer for nothing. At this point he would gladly take another year with Quivering Quirrell for at least the man, despite his stutter and his allegiance to the Dark Lord, spent the year teaching them Defence… before he attacked a student that is.

He turned to the witch beside him and nudged her, " _Oi_ ," he whispered pointedly. " _Granger._ " At this, he saw her whisky eyes flash at the interruption and she cocked her head at him, closing her book.

"Do us a favour and hex the man," he said, snickering at her glare. He pulled away from her when he saw her fingers twitching to slap him with her book.

"I'm not doing that again, Malfoy. You _know_ what happened last time," she hissed, kicking him under the table instead.

The blonde boy tried to hide his giggles behind a robed arm but could not hide the mirth from his eyes as he remembered how annoyed and dirty his friend looked after each session she spent cleaning each used Quidditch broom after every house's practice. Afterwards, when they would meet up before potions, Hermione had called detention an "inhumane practise", but Draco had merely laughed at her uncharacteristically dishevelled, grease-stained uniform and her even wilder hair.

"We'll see, Granger. With this twit as our teacher, anything can happen."


	8. Chapter 8

**May 5** **th** **1992**

Hermione knew that being here probably wasn't the best of ideas, but she really did have nowhere else to go. The witch guessed that the incident this morning should have indicated how badly this day was really going to go and she mentally slapped herself for missing all the warning signs.

It _had_ _been_ an ordinary enough day, Hermione reminisced... for about three whole minutes. She realised that something was wrong at 5:30am. The day had become less ordinary the moment she began to change into her uniform and had discovered that all her ties were missing. She protested loudly, apologising quietly when Parvati began to stir in her bed. That seemed to happen an awful lot around Hogwarts nowadays. It had been two weeks since Peeves had randomly (in an attempt to mock-strangle a vexing Hufflepuff) found out that the only thing that he could physically pick up were, oddly, ties and no one—not even _Peeves_ —could explain why this odd phenomenon happened. It was also after this strange revelation that Hogwarts students from the Dungeons to the Towers would wake up to find that their house ties were missing.

These days it wasn't uncommon to find a sheepish student or two asking an irked Professor McGonagall to transfigure something into a tie for them at the end of her class. Briefly, Hermione wondered if McGonagall had started charging children because she definitely didn't get paid enough for having to deal with Peeves' crap.

Eventually borrowing one of Lavender's and leaving her a small note, she straightened it and made her way to the Great Hall early. On a typical day, she would bump into Malfoy by now and sit with him for breakfast. He would eat a croissant or three and rant about the classes that he was going to have that day, and she would listen to him whilst reading a book and wait to eat breakfast with Harry and Ron an hour later. After all, at 6am, they were the only people in the Hall (if you excluded Snape) and sitting alone just tables apart was very lonely (as they had discovered those first few months in their first year). However, to her disappointment, she didn't bump into Draco that morning. There was no flaky croissant covering Malfoys dark robes, no morning rant for Hermione to nod and hum along to and no pumpkin juice that Draco would occasionally pour out for her when he realised that she wasn't eating. Instead, there was a small shared nod between herself and Professor Snape as she entered the near abandoned Hall, before she made her way to her own house's table.

It was at 6:02 in the morning when Hermione experienced her next sign of bad luck: She had forgotten her book. With the realisation that she had fifty-eight whole minutes of sheer agonising _boredom_ waiting for her, Hermione Granger plonked herself down onto the bench and banged her head on the cool surface of the wooden table with a resounding _**thunk**_. She stayed like that for a while; head down and frizzy hair fanning around her. She humoured the idea of taking a nap right then and then but then the thought of stooping to Ronald's level put her off of the idea almost immediately and she gave a resound groan in annoyance. Maybe if she thought hard enough then Draco would come through the doors with a flimsy excuse like "My robes were on fire so I had to put them out but I forgot the spell and so my shoes ended up on the roof and then they also caught fire", and then he would hand her a book as a peace offering and sit next to her and stuff his face with French food and insult teachers in between bites whilst she read the words of Agatha Christie or Beedle the Bard. She wasn't fussed, just as long as he chose a good one. She imagined that if she thought hard enough then maybe he'd even pour her some of that pump—

Suddenly, her ears perked up at the unmistakable sound of liquid sloshing into a metal goblet and she chanced a look upwards. Her forehead was slightly red and indented with harsh lines from the wooden grooves on the table, but it didn't bother her when she saw that it was not her thought-induced friend Draco Malfoy. Instead, there, sitting directly across from her, was Professor Severus Snape and... was he really pouring her some pumpkin juice?

 _Was she going mad?_

"Do close your mouth, Granger, we both know what came out of it last time and I would rather not have to burn another one of my robes because of the hideous stench," he said, ignoring her blushing as he placed the jug down and slid the goblet across the table to her.

She noticed that the Professor was watching her intently as she moved to take it from him hesitantly, as if it was laced with Veritaserum or Cyanide. It wasn't, but that didn't mean she wasn't cautious. It was well known that he wasn't the kindest of people and it made her suspicious that the man would chose of his own will to come and sit so close to one of the students that he knowingly showed no liking to or admiration for. In fact, unlike many of her teachers, Professor Snape really did seem to hate her. It made more sense to her that he _would_ try to poison her, if only to get her out of his sight for five hours a week. It was justified, she guessed—she _did_ throw up on him.

"You're awful at potions," he told her bluntly as he buttered two pieces of toast. He took a chunk out of one and, again, he slid the other across the table to her.

She mumbled her thanks as she took a gulp of her juice. For the insults or the food, she didn't know. But what she did know was that she was bookless and bored and they still had forty whole minutes before any more students drifted into the Hall for breakfast so all she could do to pass the time was eat. If it meant that she had to sit in the presence of her enemy, then so be it. Hunger and boredom were two of her downfalls.

He let a moment pass between them before he continued with a forced, "I want to help you."

Snape was lucky that she had already swallowed the pumpkin juice.

Hermione rightly thought that he wouldn't have liked to "burn another one of his robes because of the stench" as he had put it. Being directly in front of her, he _was_ in the slash zone after all; he was very lucky indeed that she had already swallowed. Apparently around Snape, Hermione's mouth didn't want to stop regurgitating things onto him.

"You want to help me?" Disbelief tingled her small voice.

"As per usual, Miss Granger, you are ever so literate—eat the toast will you—but yes, I do want to help you." Nonchalantly, he sipped into his almost hilariously feminine teacup and watched the emotions play on her face.

Contrary to popular belief, Severus Snape did care somewhat for his students who at least wanted to be good at potions. In them, the old potions master saw himself, and even his stone-cold heart warmed faintly at the potential of some of his students getting actually achieving an O instead of a P or T at the end of their fifth year. And, though he realised that Hermione was just a second year and still had a while to go yet, he knew from his own lessons and from listening to Minerva brag non-stop about her bright little Gryffindor witch during their Monday meetings, that Miss Granger wasn't stupid. Despite the fact that he was a knowingly slimy git at times and he was closed off to a fault, Severus Snape found some _semblance_ of joy in teaching and his teaching senses told him that Granger, with all her pretentious know-it-all attitude, was someone who he could tolerate enough to teach her personally. So yes, Snape wanted to help Hermione.

He made his exit then, not before handing her a piece of parchment with his office and a time and date for their next meeting. He warned her not to be late, took his teacup, and walked off. Hermione didn't have enough time to decline his offer and a tiny sliver of him was relieved that she didn't. Admittedly, the other part of him was just glad that he was able to leave her presence unscathed and still with his clean robes. He had in fact just washed them and he didn't feel like throwing them away any time soon. He heard the small sounds of tiny feet and laughter waft through the other end of the Hall just as the doors to the teachers' exit slammed shut behind him as well as the unmistakable sound of his godson entering and noisily plonking himself down on one of the tables.

It was after Professor Snape had left that Draco Malfoy finally decided to show up. He was noticeably sullen and his silver eyes dull against the dark circles surrounding them. He ignored the witch across the room as he dropped himself and his bag onto the Slytherin benches and, turning his back on her, ate his breakfast of croissants in solitary silence. She watched on with a frown.

At 12:30pm, the next wave of bad luck hit. This time, it came in the form of an owl-hurricane. At precisely the same time as usual, a flock of birds came swooping down on the Hogwarts population, hunting down children and releasing their clasp on whatever they had hidden between their sharp talons. For Harry, it was a cheeky letter from the twins asking him something embarrassing (which Hermione guessed is why his cheeks quickly became tinged with pink before he scrunched up the note and threw it back at the twins' laughing faces), for Ron and Ginny it had been a small packet of Bertie Botts Every Flavoured Beans (" _Which you are not to share with your brothers, Ronald, Merlin knows those two troublesome boys mixed with a sugar rush is a nightmare. It's a miracle your father and I haven't confiscated their secret stash yet_ "), and for Hermione it had been a wet, dribbling white and green trail leading from her shoulder to her hip. Some of it had also gotten into her hair and she managed to hold back a squeal when she realised that the blasted creature had also pooped all over her Transfiguration scrolls (McGonagall was going to be so annoyed with her).

She had also gotten a package but—too busy dealing with the strangely-haughty Malfoy Family Owl—it had gone practically unnoticed by her until Ron had picked it up and eyed it suspiciously.

"Oi, 'Mione. This one's for to you," he said, frowning when she snatched it away from his hand. "Bloody 'ell, Hermione, not so fast. Could've given me a paper cut!"

"I'll add it to the list of dangerous injuries you've sustained this year—right next to that small graze on your arm," she retorted, spelling away the stains on her robes and tucking the paper package into her bag for later. She ignored Ron's protest of _"it's a battle scar!"_ and merely finished the rest of her paper for next week's Transfiguration lecture. Suddenly, she was no longer in the mood to eat.

Harry just gave a small giggle at Ron's huffing and gave him a reassuring pat on the back. They spent the rest of lunch chatting about Quidditch or something nonconsequential to Hermione before they had to make their way to Lockhart's first (and to the surprise of no one at all— _the_ _last_ ) Duelling Club lesson. Let it be known to all that Harry Potter's gift of Parseltongue did not bode very well for the future of Lockhart's little club.

By the end of the day, Hermione found herself in the Girl's Bathrooms in order to find herself some privacy. Reaching into her bag, she ripped open the package only to hear a loud squeal and the doors of the bathroom slam shut.

It was finally at 3:15pm that Hermione was graced with her final warning of bad luck... and it was _smiling_.

* * *

 _ **Hi everyone! I am so happy that some of you have actually clicked on my story and read it- it means so much to me, it really does. Every view and review I get fills me with so much love and I can't express it in enough words, I really can't. Thank you all you beautiful beings!**_

 _ **To Hwyla:** hehe I'm glad you liked the joke. Yes, they were definitely talking about Vedder- the resemblance and name is just a bit too uncanny to go unnoticed. Though he can be a bit of an annoying git, I have a soft spot for Ron so I couldn't really bring myself to make him anything less than the funny little kid that he really is. _

_**SereniteRose** : I love you so much! Your support means the world to me so thank you!_

 _ **Please leave any questions you have in a review and I'll try to answer them in the next chapter! Or just leave a review and make my heart swell to unbelievable proportions and make my day, that would be brilliant thanks!**_


	9. Chapter 9

**May 5th 1992**

Hermione swerved quickly to see a mass of billowing black robes push itself into the doors of the bathroom and give a determined grunt when it slammed with a loud **_bang_**. The brown paper in her hand was switched with a rigid wand, and a very suspicious looking Hermione Granger felt her eyebrows knit together in trepidation. An incantation nearly flickered off of her tongue when the robes turned on its heels and Hermione found herself frozen in place, her eyes drawn to deep chocolate orbs and onyx hair. It seemed that the girl was smiling at nothing as she looked up at the ceiling before she fell to the slippery tiles with a little **_thump_** , her back lying comfortably against the closed door.

Hermione stood there, hidden behind the sinks, unnoticed.

The girl was unusual, was her first thought. She wasn't someone that Hermione had seen around Hogwarts before, that was for sure, and Hermione thought that she must've been in a different year because they had never shared a class before. Her tie showed that she was a Ravenclaw and she made a mental note to ask that Luna girl if she knew who she was (though lord knows that getting a straight answer out of Loony Lovegood was no easy feat).

Upon closer inspection, Hermione saw that the girl looked tired and sweaty but her dark eyes held the same familiar glint that she knew lived in permanent residence in Fred and George's own eyes— _mischief_. Hermione wondered if she just attracted troublemakers because they did seem to find her one way or another and this girl was definitely no different.

"Do I have something on my face?" said the voice in her ear.

Hermione was immediately snapped out from her over-analysing and blushed at being caught. She coughed, "no."

The girl merely nodded at her and, ignoring Hermione's still pointed wand, raised her hand up and wiggled her fingers like she was playing an imaginary piano, wordlessly asking the witch to come and help her off of the floor. She did, hesitantly, after lowering her wand and frowning when the girl smiled at her again.

"What are you doing here?" she found herself asking. It was a stupid question, she chastised herself, thinking that despite its abandoned state, the bathroom was still a _public_ one.

"Could ask you the same thing, little one."

Her ears perked up at the unfamiliar lilt in the girl's voice. It was crisp and unusual and Hermione, with all her Geographical expertise, couldn't pin-point where her accent was from.

Hermione watched as the older girl made her way to the least-shattered sink and splashed cold water onto her sweaty face. The girl squinted at her through the grimy mirror between cool splashes. Her gaze was unwavering, Hermione noticed, and had a strange hold on the frizzy-haired witch. She gave an involuntary gulp.

"Don't you know ghosts haunt this bathroom?" she smirked, finally.

"It's only _Myrtle_ ," Hermione huffed, arms crossed. She had had enough experiences with Hogwarts ghosts today and didn't really care for having to deal with another right now. "And it's not like she's anything to be afraid of," she muttered.

That earned her a little chuckle from the girl and a small smile; it made Hermione's hands sweat in confused nervousness and the grip on her wand tightened.

"I've seen you here before," the girl said so nonchalantly, but Hermione's heart began to beat frantically in her ribcage all the same. She seemed so strangely threatening even as Hermione saw her using her robe to wipe the dribbling water from her forehead, before moving to the door again.

"I—"

"Don't worry," she said, giving her another smile as she leant an ear against the white wood of the door. Hermione, abandoning her wand by her bag, gave the stranger a weird look when she saw her stroke the doorframe, as if it was a pet that needed soothing.

 _She really was mad_ , Hermione thought.

"I won't tell Snape that you've been brewing Polyjuice— not bad for a first year though, I'll give you that."

Hermione was suddenly brought back to the her talk with Snape that very morning and she frowned. He had told her that she was rubbish at potions and, truth be told, it had hurt Hermione to hear it. Though he had been more civil in those few minutes that he had ever been to her in her two years at Hogwarts, his insult had still offended her and had dampened her already sombre mood that morning. The hurt had only dimmed when he offered to help her and what was pain had quickly turned into confusion. After her talk with Snape, she was starting to think that maybe she really _was_ bad at potions. Sure, she had successfully made Polyjuice, but it wasn't exactly perfect and it most likely wasn't up to his impossibly high standards anyway. Plus, it probably wouldn't do her any good to tell him of her feat when she ended up turning into a half breed cat now would it?

Hermione huffed again at that. "I'm a _second_ year," she corrected haughtily. And, though a frown graced her face, her cheeks reddened at the sincere compliment.

To her surprise though, the girl seemed content at ignoring her little outburst and continued to stroke the door. Hermione was about to call her out on her strange actions when she heard the small chant leave the girl's lips and her eyes deepened in concentration. When she was done, she sighed and gave Hermione a little wink before whipping out her wand and pointing it at Hermione's throat.

"You saw none of that," she said, pressing down lightly at the little witch's jugular. Her voice was peculiarly warm, but her eyes were a contrasting cold and hardened the longer Hermione kept her mouth shut. The glint in her eye was back and in full force and Hermione no longer thought that it was mischievous. No, it was _poisonous_.

Hermione found herself suddenly cowering at the girl's infuriating smile and all she could do was nod slowly at the strange turn of events in hopes that maybe the girl would lower her wand and let her leave in one piece. She had never had a wand pointed at _her_ before, and it frightened her. A part of her wanted to reach for her own wand but she had stupidly left it besides her bag near the sinks and it was completely out of reach. This girl was a walking contradiction and after seeing her demonstrate wandless magic, Hermione had an inkling that being on the other end of her wand wasn't going to end well for her if she didn't comply.

"I won't tell Snape about your strange affinity for banned brews, and you won't tell anyone of what happened here. Correct?" It wasn't really a question. They both acknowledged the threatening tone that she had taken on and Hermione simply nodded again, feeling her throat grate uncomfortably against the stiff stick.

When the wand finally lowered to the girl's side, a sudden rush of much-needed air entered Hermione's lungs as she took in a hearty intake of breath. Her panic only subsided marginally.

"Nuttal," the smiling girl finally introduced. Her wand was tucked behind her ear and suddenly the toothy girl looked immediately less threatening than she had been just a few seconds before.

Hermione found herself doing mental backflips around the girl's strange mood swings. However, she still took Nuttal's outstretched hand and then immediately paled. She paled not at that deadly glint in the girl's eyes, the feel of her frozen hand in her own, or the sharp edge of the wand still pointing at her through Nuttal's thick nest of hair. No, she paled when she saw what was behind Nuttal. Hermione froze as she caught a glimpse of the unmistakable flash of a reptile's copper scales reflect in the murky puddles of toilet water on the floor of the abandoned girl's bathroom. She immediately knew that she had to act fast.

She reached into her pockets and sighed in relief as she felt the cool glass of her small pocket mirror. It was the same mirror that her mother had been fixing her lipstick in when a wailing Hermione had come home from school one day in tears after the muggle children at her primary school had tormented her relentlessly about her large front teeth and her frizzy hair. It was the same mirror that her mother had handed a hiccoughing, red-cheeked, tear-stained Hermione. It was the same mirror that her mother made her look into as she pointed out each one of the little seven-year-old Hermione's features and called her beautiful before kissing her cheek and telling her to keep it "as a reminder". And it was the same mirror that she had been carrying around with her the moment that she had discovered the pattern of the Basilisk's attacks and, in her own paranoia, had decided was the best act of precaution for herself. It was this mirror that would hopefully be her lifeline. And, if so, she would go back home and immediately thank her mother's vanity and kindness, and her bully's relentlessness. She survived last year and she definitely intended to survive this year too, after all.

A part of her wanted to be selfish and leave Nuttal to her own devices, but she knew that she could never do that to someone. Not when they were in the very same room that housed the victim of the monster's own attacks. No, she was not that sadistically cruel. So instead, she found herself edging closer and closer to the tall girl, mirror in hand. Then, taking her eyes off of the rippling scales curling its way closer to its prey, she looked at the girl quickly with wide, terrified eyes and apologised, lifting the mirror with a small scream.

It was the last thing either girl heard before everything went completely blank.

* * *

 ** _Hello you beautiful beings!_** _**Please leave any questions you have in a review and I'll try to answer them in the next chapter! Or just leave a review and make my heart swell to unbelievable proportions and make my day, that would be brilliant thanks!**_

 ** _Leonix2009_** _: Thank you for your review— you are so sweet! As for the gift, I guess you'll have to wait a bit longer to see what it is!_

 ** _SereniteRose_** _: It's not completely a Hermione Granger AU as it does still include cannon events but yes, I guess it ultimately it is. Hermione doesn't have more or less power than she usually does—she's a pretty powerful witch anyway hehe. As for the gift, well, you'll just have to find out in the next chapter…_


	10. Chapter 10

**May 5** **th** **1992**

There was a distinct sound of bodies hitting the cool ground with a resounding **_fa-doom_** , the impact still ricocheting off of the damp walls even after the small witch had fully open her eyes to meet her new surroundings. The room that she was in was illuminated by a singular, dying lamppost, casting a barely visible spotlight across the dingy room. In the stale air swirled wafer-thin layers of dust that lined her heavy lungs with each breath she inhaled, and on the ground, ebony leaves and steely sharp thorns littered the floor and seemed to purposely search for her exposed skin whenever she dared moved. Each subtle movement of her body brought on an onslaught of indescribable torture. She felt it in her joints, each crevice and dip of her body set alight by invisible flames and all she could do was writher and whimper until the fires within her subsided to a numbing tingle.

She stole a moment to regain her breath.

Still on the floor, squinting through the dusty lamp light, Hermione could just make out a ball of shadows unfurl and let out a shudder-inducing scream. It was after the unsteady figure managed to drag themselves upright and limp their way closer and closer to Hermione's spot on the floor, did she find herself unconsciously reeling back into a pile of needle-y thorns in a panic.

It was her turn to scream.

Fallen blood poured out of the open wounds and leaked into the leaves, turning them black before they shrivelled and died with her screams. Hermione cupped her bleeding hand and hissed as the wounds collapsed painfully in on itself and leaving a marring scar her body.

 _Dark magic_ , Hermione thought with a shudder.

The shadowed figure shuffled closer.

"Are you alright?" It was Nuttal.

Suddenly, those thorns didn't seem half bad.

As if to prove a point, Hermione was caught off guard when a silver thorn snagged at Hermione's leg, embedding itself deeply ender her fragile skin and drawing a sharp smile onto her ankle. She screamed and grabbed at her left ankle expecting to feel a warm tail of liquid pour out into her hands. Instead, she was surprised to find that she was met with only cool air and the lingering sensation of a phantom sting. Once the stinging had dissipated, in its place, Hermione found, was yet another jagged scar. She cringed.

"Do you need help?" Nuttal asked, crouching to Hermione's level on the ground. Her friendly words were tainted with that eerily calm smile that grace's the girl's face once again and it did more to unsettle Hermione than soothe her.

From this position, Hermione could see the scars that Nuttal herself sported on her way to reach Hermione. Like her own, they were long, thin and impossibly red against her dark skin. But, unlike Hermione, Nuttal didn't seem to be that bothered about it. In fact, despite the eerie smile, Hermione realised that Nuttal's face was devoid of all emotion. If it wasn't for the gut-wrenching scream that she had heard Nuttal make from across the room, she would have thought Nuttal was perfectly fine.

Turning from the girl, she scanned their surroundings instead. It wasn't that she was trying to be rude or anything, but she figured that after being threatened with the witch's wand not moments before, that this Nuttal girl probably didn't have the purest intentions. Sure, Hermione had made the snap decision to save the girl who could've harmed her beyond belief, but that didn't mean that they were now suddenly friends. She didn't know if that was why Nuttal was acting so sympathetic all of a sudden, but Hermione didn't trust her as far as she could throw her and so she didn't see the need to act like she did. The girl was hard to understand and Hermione couldn't wrap her head round the girl's swinging attitudes and it was giving her whiplash.

"Can you get up?" Nuttal barely whispered, eyeing the angry new scar on Hermione's ankle warily.

She shook her head and, shoving away Nuttal's arm, Hermione forced herself to stand. Thorns splintered and leaves crunched under the pressure of her weight, whilst sharp needles splinched off the soft skin of her palms and left her with a myriad of angry scars.

Hermione could barely contain her yells.

Leaning on her knees, she tried in vain to ignore the stiffness of her joints and the painful pinpricks that shot up to her spine as she stretched it. She tried as hard as she could, but that didn't stop her from grunting loudly as her body protested at the movement when she was finally upright.

 **…**

With each relentless scream, Nuttal watched in morbid fascination as the stubborn girl attempted to lift herself up off of the thorn bush and resisted the urge to pull her out herself. Hermione distrusted her, that much was obvious. But regardless of her beliefs, she found herself feeling for the girl. She was a child, after all, and despite her haughty behaviour, Hermione was hurting and she wanted to help her. So, she placed her hands under her armpits, only to be shoved away from the surprisingly strong girl. Nuttal merely shrugged and moved away from her.

She had no need for allies, no need for friends; she only needed to last the four years she had left at Hogwarts anyway.

Turning, she made her way across the room, ignoring the scratching pain at her legs. Looking around seemed pretty useless without her glasses—apparently thick frames didn't transcend realms— or her wand to cast a simple _Lumos_ , but if she squinted hard enough she could just make out her surroundings.

To her left, Nuttal could just make out the outline of one of the little shrubs caked in cobwebs and to her right, an identical shrub-like object lay parallel. Weaving her way to one of them, Nuttal took a sharp inhale of breath. Whatever light the lamp had left to cast reflected off of the plant and they gleamed tantalisingly in the darkness. It had been adorned with some sort of glistening fruit, shining like oddly placed fairy lights. The closer she got to the fruit, the more enticing it got. It called to her, it seemed, and in her blind wandering she was in no position to ignore the pleas emanating from the glittering objects. She ignored the irritated nipping at the back of her head telling her to move away and allowed herself to be drawn into the invisible pull.

As she inspected it, Nuttal quickly realised that it was not fruit, but in fact hanging, golden teeth, each one sharper and darker than the other. After moving to the school, she had taken a keen fascination to the subject that she had not been offered at her old school, and thus had read and reread her Care of Magical Creatures textbook like a bible. She prided herself in being able to recognise different magical creatures, even if the subject wasn't as interesting to the other students in her year. She liked it so much that despite her seemingly cold demeanour, Professor Kettleburn took a liking to her, and she often imagined that if he still had his hand, he would give her a thumbs up for every answer she got correct.

The teeth looked near-identical to the ones that she had seen in her Care of Magical Creatures textbook back at Hogwarts, she noted. Long, curved and incredibly sharp, there was no doubt in her mind what creature this beauty belonged to. She was certain of it: they belonged to the Basilisk.

She shivered involuntarily, but the attraction was too hard to resist and, like Eve, she was tempted by the call of the snake.

So, she pulled.

Suddenly, Nuttal was ripped away from her trance at a small shriek behind her.

* * *

 _ **That's it for today! Please comment, favourite and follow for updates. See you guys next week!**_


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